


What is left to us

by Tranquility



Series: That Loki story I started years ago... [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Asgardian justice, Bondage, Depression, Force-Feeding, Gags, Hurt Loki, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki-centric, M/M, Obsession, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Thor, Starvation, Thor Feels, Unreliable Narrator, Viking Morals, Vomiting, but not the kind of hug Thor has in mind, suicidal behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tranquility/pseuds/Tranquility
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am sorry, brother. I know you are tired, but you must eat.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is left to us

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Spoils of War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/464365) by [LokiBitch07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiBitch07/pseuds/LokiBitch07). 



> Written as a reaction to Spoils of War (in which Loki is abused in the Asgardian prison) and one of the comments that asked about Thor’s motivation, however I have re-set it to after TDW. 
> 
> Well, what can I say? I have never written anything before in my life, apart from some work reports, and I have certainly never imagined that my first fic will be something like that, but this story just played out in my head and I couldn't shake it off. On one hand I had a burning desire to get Loki out, on the other I was wondering how will the characters be able to live with the consequences of these actions. 
> 
> Eternal gratitude goes to my wonderful Beta [ChloeWeird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWeird), who was incredibly encouraging, when I was shitting myself about what I have written and helped plug the plot holes and correct the grammar (English is not my first language).
> 
> _**This is an explicit, disturbing and in parts graphical story. Please read the tags and warnings and proceed at your own risk. __**_  
> Views expressed by the characters are their own and do not represent author's views.

“I am sorry, brother. I know you are tired, but you must eat.”

Loki is pliant after the bathing. He is sitting on the stone floor leaning against the wall, wrapped in a thick white cloth that Thor used to dry him off. He looks at Thor, who is crouching next to him, with a vacant expression until his eyelids begin to droop and his head starts falling onto his chest. Thor gently lifts his chin back up and brushes away damp lifeless hair from Loki’s face. He presses a spoon full of steaming soup to Loki's lips. It smells of rich meaty broth and sweet roots.

“Open your mouth.” The spoon is pressing more insistently now. “Please, brother. For me.”

The harsh ceaseless artificial light bounces of the bare white walls of the cell. It is quiet bar the faint cackling of the impenetrable energy barrier and the laboured sounds of Loki’s breathing.

Loki grunts and tries to turn away from the invading spoon, but Thor’s hand holds his head still against the coarse wall. He presses down on Loki’s chin, forcing his mouth to open slightly and promptly shoves the spoon in.

“There, brother. That’s better.”

Loki jerks and spits the soup out, the hot liquid splattering across Thor’s face, bits of roots and meat sticking in his golden hair.

“Oh for the love of Odin, Loki!” Thor tosses the spoon back into the silver bowl. Static electricity seeps through the air around him and small sparks start flying off where it reaches the cell barrier.

None of the food has gone down today. Just like the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that. It’s been weeks. Maybe even months — Thor is starting to lose the track of time.

When Loki stopped using his magic to heal the wounds, it took Thor two weeks to realise that the bruises on Loki’s body and the tears in his rear were not going away. The warriors, who came to claim their due, began complaining that he was not as tight anymore.

Then Loki stopped eating.

 

Thor has tried everything. He sat with Loki for hours, cajoling him into eating. He brought cheeses and berries instead of the meats and breads. Even Tytteberies — Loki’s favourite treat — the one Mother always used to bring from Vanaheim, when they were little… But Loki is wasting away with each passing day. Thor can see every rib, every vertebra now. Loki’s skin became dry and translucent like parchment with blue veins visible underneath. It hangs loosely off the sharp bones. His once glossy raven-black hair is dull and the clumps come off tangled in Thor’s fingers when he washes it.

Thor doesn’t know how much longer Loki can last. His own flesh is strong and resilient, but he knows that even for the Aesir once all the reserves are depleted, the decline is fast, the body will literally consume itself in a matter of days if not hours. Fast metabolism has its downsides after all.

He tried going to Eir, only to be met with a firm refusal, albeit apologetic. _It is forbidden for the healers to treat those who do not wish it_.

He knows that, of course he knows.

He tried, again, to appeal to Father to reconsider his sentence. But instead of Father in the grand hall he was faced with Odin the Allfather, the ruler of Asgard, the king of gods. _Merciful and just are the laws of Asgard._

So, Odin will not break his last promise to Mother. He will not have Loki executed. He will simply allow him to die of his own volition.

And Thor will be left watching it helplessly.

Again.

Just as he watched Mother taking her last breath in his arms. Just as he watched Loki letting go. He watched and he did nothing.

 

(He did something. He destroyed the Bifrost, he brought Jane to Asgard, he sent Loki… )

 

“Enough!” Thor jolts to his feet and grabs Loki under the arms, abruptly hoisting him up and pinning him to the wall. Loki’s eyes fly open, wide with shock.

“That’s enough! I will not allow it. Twice already have you made me mourn you, brother. I have no wish to do it again.” The words come out as a roar. Thor can feel the heat flushing through his body, can feel the veins bulging on the sides of his neck. A low humming of electricity fills the room. Bright sparks rain off the cell barrier. Outside, above the soaring golden towers and leafy gardens, a storm is brewing and the raucous echoes of thunder are reaching through the bowels of the ancient palace down deep into the dungeon cells.

Thor uncouples the cuffs on Loki’s wrists and ankles from the heavy chain that connects to the ponderous metal collar and roughly attaches them to the rings in the wall instead.

Loki is thrashing in his restraints, spread-eagle against the cold stone. The cloth falls down, leaving his frail body completely exposed and vulnerable. He is staring at Thor with the wild eyes.

“No!” Loki’s voice is hoarse. “What are you doing? Thor! Sto—“

Thor fists his hand in dark hair and yanks Loki’s head back, pushing the O-ring gag in place and fastening it to the rusty hook behind. He tugs the straps to make sure Loki’s head is immobilised.

Unintelligible screams and the rattling of metal chains rip through the cell.

Thor picks up the soup bowl from the floor and mashes its contents into a sludge with such force that the spoon breaks into two. Thor starts slowly pouring the soup into the back of Loki's throat, mouth held wide open by the gag and ready to receive.

Some of the liquid escapes and trickles down onto Loki’s chest, but he manages to get most of it in. Loki is grunting and gagging, struggling against the bounds, unable to turn his head away.

Thor presses one hand to Loki’s throat and carefully massages it downwards until Loki swallows reflexively.

After several minutes Loki starts coughing and choking in earnest and Thor pauses for a minute giving him the time to recuperate.  The thick frothy spit mixed with broth and small chunks of roots is dribbling down Loki’s chin in long gooey strings. Thor picks up the wash cloth and wipes it off, before proceeding with the rest of the slop.

The soup is relentless and hot and there is no way of stopping it. Scalding tears and slobber continue to run down the sides of Loki’s contorted and blotchy red face. Piercing green eyes are glowing with pure unreserved hatred.

When it's finally over, Thor wipes Loki’s tears with his thumb.

“I am sorry, brother. It brings me no joy to treat you harshly, but you have left me with no choice. You brought this upon yourself. You know that you must stop this foolishness. You must eat,” says Thor.

He cleans the rest of the mess from Loki’s face, neck and chest and plugs the gag closed. The strap forcing Loki’s head back is released and Thor softly presses lips to his forehead. Still, furious sobs keep coming.

“Shh. It is over now. Calm yourself. You will feel much better now that you have had some nourishment.”

 

The stark white cell is devoid of any furniture, save for the rack and the chains coming out of the walls and ceiling. Thor takes off his black leather cape and spreads it on the floor.

Loki doesn’t resist when Thor unties and slowly lowers his trembling body, laying him with his back against the soft cape.

Thor brushes his fingers against the sharp protruding collarbones, down to the frail chest, tracing around the pale pink nipples.  He slides down and plants soft kisses onto Loki’s belly, now bulging prominently, full with warm soup.

All shall still be well again. He will take care of his little brother.

Thor loosens his garments and spreads Loki’s thighs wider, pulling them up a little. He pours the aromatic oil onto his hand to slick the way and carefully slides one digit into Loki’s tight opening, waiting for the muscles to relax, then slowly working it in and out, before adding the second and third fingers.

When he feels that his brother is ready, he lines up the tip of his cock and pushes in with one smooth motion. He uses all his resolve to stay perfectly still for a few moments, giving Loki time to adjust, then closes his eyes and starts rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm.

Tenderness and affection wash over him in hot waves. He wants to crush Loki into the aching pit in his chest with all his might, to bore deeper and deeper into his essence, to fuse the very fibres of their beings. He feels that nothing can tear them apart when they are bound together so profoundly and intimately. That Loki will never abandon him again…

He can feel Loki’s body arching and buckling underneath him, convulsing with each thrust, clamping hard onto his cock and Thor is overcome with sensation.

It is glorious and perfect and he is so close, so very close to the sweet release. Just a few more thrusts. He reaches to take Loki’s erection into his hand. They will share this moment. They will come together.

But Loki’s cock is limp and unresponsive. Thor opens his eyes and looks at his brother through the haze. At first he doesn’t understand what he is seeing.

 

Loki’s face has gone blue.

 

It hits him like a freezing gust of winter storm…

 

Loki is suffocating. He is desperately clawing at the gag, trying to rip it off.  The whole body is convulsing.  His eyes rolling back in his head.

 

“No, Loki. No. No!”

 

Thor pulls out hastily and spins Loki over onto his side, the thin body jerking between his thighs.

He frantically tries to open the clasps of the gag with one hand, while using the other to press Loki’s cheek to the floor and keep him from turning over. His hands are shaking and the clasps won’t open. He lets go of Loki’s head and tries with both hands, but the fingers slip again and again, greasy with the slick. One futile attempt after another. Thor bites into the straps, desperately trying to rip it off with his teeth.

Finally, the gag comes off and the vomit escapes. “Come, Loki, breathe!” Thor stuffs his fingers deep down Loki’s throat pulling the slimy bits of spew to clear the airways.

Loki is coughing and fitfully gasping for air, struggling to fill his lungs.

Thor pulls Loki onto his hands and knees, supporting his chest with one hand and brushing his long hair out of the way with another. Loud retching and sobs are tearing through the morbid silence of the dungeon. There are remains of the soup, yellowish bile and droplets of blood in the vomit smeared on the dark leather cape and the floor beneath them.

Once Loki’s stomach has emptied its contents, it takes another thirty minutes for the dry heaves to stop.

When the spasms cease Thor pulls Loki closer into the tight embrace, but Loki jerks free and scrambles away crawling unsteadily towards the furthest corner of the room. His weakened limbs are trembling, threatening to give out. There is no place to hide in the small cell. Loki curls into a tight ball and presses his naked body into the cold stone wall. There is vomit still stuck to his chin and hair.

Thor tries to say something, but the words don’t come. Instead he feels the lump growing in his throat.

***

They stay like that for several hours, sat on the floor on the opposing ends of the small cell.  It is quiet again, only the chatter of Loki’s teeth and the distant steps of the guards can be heard through the humming of the cell barrier. The storm outside has died down, giving way to the solemn rain.

When Thor finally attempts to approach him again, Loki hisses and presses further into the wall.  The bathing water has long gone cold, but Thor has to use it to clean the dry spew from Loki’s face. He tries giving Loki a drink, but not much gets in as Loki jerks and spits.

With a heavy sigh Thor locks Loki’s cuffs to the chain going down from his neck and puts the silencing muzzle back on. He covers his brother with the clean side of the cape and leaves without saying a word.

***

The dawn is already breaking when Thor reaches his chambers. Faint stars and ghostly silhouettes of the planets fill the skies and reflect the first bright rays of the rising Aesir sun onto the mountain snow-caps. Birds sing their morning songs.

 

He used to love early mornings. Sparring with Sif when the majority of the city is still asleep and the training grounds are almost empty. Brisk swishing sounds and the clanging of weapons singing to his ears; a light breeze filling his lungs with vigour. Morning routine has always given him clarity, an opportunity to exercise his body and quiet his mind.

 

Thor draws the heavy ornate drapes, shielding himself from the merciless exposing light that pours in from the outside, shutting off the sounds of the new day in the golden city.

“Mead! Bring me mead and make haste!” shouts Thor to the terrified young attendant, who had fallen asleep on the chair in the corner.

When it arrives merely two minutes later, he gulps the whole jug in one go and sends for another.

The worms of shame and guilt that have been steadily eating at him these past months have gnawed a vast hole through his chest. He longs for the sweet embrace of drunkenness to dull the ache. _How did it come to this?_

Thor’s thoughts travel back to the night when it first started.  He sees himself again standing in the accursed cell. Loki hanging limp in his chains, gagged, head sagging, arms painfully outstretched above him. There are whip marks on his body that make Thor’s blood boil with rage.

Thor reaches to undo the binds and Loki jolts at his touch. His skin made oversensitive from the hours of torment. His head springs up and he looks at Thor with the silent pleading.

Thor sees it then. He sees how purple and swollen Loki’s cock is, how the drops of pre-come are leaking from his tip. He realises from the way Loki takes in sharp ragged breaths that his brother desperately needs a release. He must have been kept on edge for hours on end.

“Do you wish for my help, brother?” Thor asks quietly. For reasons he doesn’t understand his voice has gone low and hoarse.

Loki hesitates, then nods once. He turns his head away and closes his eyes. A few tears escape.

Thor reaches forward and wraps Loki’s abused cock in his hand. He gives it one tentative stroke and Loki lets out a pained moan. Thor’s hand is dry and coarse and Loki’s cock is a bundle of raw nerves. Thor bends down and gets a bottle of scented oil from the pile of bathing supplies he left on the floor. He slicks his hand and returns it onto Loki’s groin, starting to work it up and down Loki’s length.

Loki arches and muffled sobs come out with each thrust. Thor leans in and buries his nose into his brother’s neck, taking in a deep breath. The sweet smell of the sweat is intoxicating. He can feel Loki’s body trembling with the rhythm of his hand. Then Loki tenses up and the strings of hot come splay all over Thor’s hand. He presses his lips to Loki’s temple.

“I am here, brother,” says Thor.

Loki doesn’t look at him, but instead lets his head rest against Thor’s shoulder, pressing against his armour.

 

As soon as the chains are released, Loki collapses into Thor’s arms, shivering with exhaustion.

Thor goes down to the floor together with him, arranging Loki on his lap, cradling him in his arms. He starts massaging Loki’s strained shoulders, careful to avoid the angry welts left by the whip and feels Loki’s body starting to relax.

A basket of roasted meats and freshly-baked breads that Thor brought for his brother’s only daily meal stands on the floor. Next to it is a silver water pitcher surrounded by the rest of the bathing supplies. Thor reaches over and picks up the pitcher, pouring the water into the small wash basin.

He kisses Loki on the temple again and shifts him, so that Loki is on his hands and knees, Thor’s left arm supporting his weight under the chest. He uses his other hand to dip the wash cloth into the basin and brings it over the back of Loki’s neck, brushing the long black hair out of the way. The warm water finds its way under the prisoner’s collar and trickles onto the floor. Shivers are running down Loki’s spine.

Thor continues the washing, working over Loki’s shoulders, dipping under his arms, in the crooks of his elbows, down the forearms, under the cuffs on his wrists, then tracing the damp cloth over his lean chest and abdomen, sliding it further into the warmth between his thighs.

He rinses the cloth again and gently brings it over Loki’s shoulder blades. Loki flinches when it comes in contact with the broken skin. Without thinking Thor leans in and plants a trail of soothing kisses over the bloody welts going down Loki’s back and thighs.

He can feel Loki’s heart fluttering, beating rapidly under his hand. The same heart that he’d feared cold and unmoving twice already.

When his brother was not dead, they’ve done nothing but fight each other. Loki has been so distant and proud and spiteful, throwing insults and mockery like sharp incandescent darts; but now Loki is so close and warm and fragile in Thor’s arms. Like the child he remembers, who would wake from a nightmare and come seeking Thor’s comfort.

He savours the moment, absorbing every sensation, bathing in the warm feeling, wanting to get all he can before it is over, because it will be over soon. _The sentiment._ He has learned the hard way that it never lasts with his brother.

And yet he desperately wants more, _needs_ more. To be closer. But what more can there be?

Thor is utterly lost in the sea of longing.  All the affection, all the grief that was bottled up inside him for so long is flooding out like a torrent, turning into raw uncontainable desire. His breath becomes rugged and his heart is pounding like the mighty drums of war, silencing the small voice of reason in his head. He can feel his own erection pushing painfully against his leather robes.

The hand supporting Loki’s chest finds his nipple. Thor gently rubs the small bud and marvels as it grows hard, answering to his ministrations.

He knows he has to stop, to pull away before he crosses the line. But he is already drowning and he knows that too.

So he lets himself go.

 

Thor lets go of the wash cloth. His right hand runs up Loki’s cleft, pausing at the entrance. Loki jerks in his hands and yelps into the gag.

“Shh, do not be afraid, brother. All is well. No harm will come to you.”

He carefully inserts one digit into Loki’s hole, still lose and moist from the fucking he took earlier that day. The silky warmth and tenderness inside feels almost unbearable.

Loki is struggling in his arms, crying out in protest, trying to pull away, but Thor just holds him tighter, kissing the smooth white skin at the back of his neck, murmuring assurances into his ear. The fire burning inside Thor becomes intolerable. He adds another finger.

“Do not fight me, brother. There is… no need.” Thor is panting, his voice trembling. He can feel his cock throbbing under the stiff leather, leaking pre-come.

He pushes his robes out of the way, then lines up and carefully inserts the tip of his thick cock. _This is what Valhalla must be like._

He had, like most warriors, taken men before, but those were the defeated war captives. It was a simple act of subjugation. There were never any feelings attached to it. Now, _this_ is different. He starts moving, slowly pumping in and out.

Never before has he felt such ecstasy, such overwhelming passion. The pleasure is endless. There is no reason, no pride, no honour, no duty, no kingdom, no war, no loneliness, no deception, _no lies_ –  just Loki in his arms, warm and alive.

“I love you, brother.”

 

Loki doesn’t resist anymore.

 

Thor comes with a growl.

 

When Loki is fed and fully bathed and Thor is back in his chambers later that night he can’t sleep. He closes his eyes and inhales the sweet smell of Loki’s sweat still lingering on his own skin. He thinks about Loki’s responsive body and the warmth he has found _inside_.

Thor’s cock grows hard again.

 

After that night Thor couldn’t stop.

 

*******

And now again in his chambers Thor lies restless unable to rid himself of the image of his brother. Only this time he sees Loki’s face going blue, ugly choking sounds rip through his mind. He sees Loki’s eyes burning with hatred and betrayal and _fear_.

Thor has seen anger and defiance in those green eyes so many times before; he has seen calculating resolve, wicked mischief, has even seen a fleeting sentiment, but fear… fear of _him_ …  

The lump is growing in Thor’s throat again. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he thinks that the nightfall has come and gone several times already. He is slumped across the lavishly decorated fur-clad bed.  Shards of broken crystal, smashed mugs and empty wine goblets litter the floor among overturned furniture. The thick sour stench of the stale liquor stands in the air.

Thor slowly scrambles to his feet, grabs the large golden goblet from the floor and leans for the wine pitcher. On the second thoughts he discards the goblet, takes a large gulp straight from the pitcher and walks with it unsteadily towards the door. He feels the blood pulsating angrily in his temples with each step and the new wave of queasiness washes over him.  

 

 

Thor stumbles down the stairs to the dungeons, nearly falling down the last few steps; some of the wine sloshes onto the tarnished ancient stone. The beasts watch him intently from behind the glimmering barriers. He walks silently through the corridors.

Inside Loki’s cell he sinks heavily to the floor against the wall and takes another large gulp from the pitcher.

“Loki,” says Thor. “Do you remember when we were children? I think we were happy.”

 

It seems like several lifetimes ago. Thor can hardly remember how it feels not to be full of anger and sorrow and longing and this wretched unsated desire.

 

He wants to relive those moments of uncomplicated friendship, so he keeps talking and laughing and drinking, dwelling on the sentiment of the past, the tales of otherworldly adventures and mischief from the merrier times. The games they played together, the battles they fought side by side. The tricks —   _Just a bit of fun, really…_

 

“Or that one time, when you tricked me into crossing the great Vimur River? Do you remember, brother, how you fell victim to your own mischief?”  Thor chuckles to himself.

He remembers Loki luring him with the promise of the two fair maidens on the other side — just another one of Loki’s little lies, of course.

Thor remembers the wide savage torrent of red waters and Loki falling, remembers trying to reach his brother’s little hand and the treacherous pebbles slipping from under his feet. He remembers the fury of white froth, slamming their bodies into the sharp rocks as the current rushers them both down towards the waterfall and Loki, still just a boy at the time, thin and agile, clutching to his neck, trying desperately to keep his head above the surface, gulping the water, eyes wide with terror.

He remembers the branch suddenly slapping hard against his cheek, remembers launching his body against the current and grabbing it at the very last moment.

He remembers later sitting drenched and breathless by the tree. Loki still clinging to his neck in shock, coughing out red water, his small body against Thor's chest.

 _The rowan tree saved our lives_.

_No brother, you did, you always do. You are always there to catch me when I fall._

 

Thor’s smile falters and he falls silent.

He thinks about Loki’s body pressed tightly against his own, hands thrown around his neck. He wants to feel it now. Loki’s body against his.

 

There is a familiar stirring in his groin.

He drinks the last of the wine and sends the pitcher clunking to the floor. There is a dark burning need in his body that wine cannot settle.

“Oh, brother, what happened to us? Why did it have to be like this? Is this one of your tricks?” asks Thor.

Loki doesn’t answer. He is staring right through Thor. Unseeing. His eyes have gone glassy, filled with enormous dilated pupils. There is no green left in there now. Just blackness.

He is still in the corner, where Thor has left him several days ago. There is an upturned bowl and some stale gruel spilled on the floor next to him. The guards must have tried to feed him at some point, but now the silencing muzzle is back on.

He turns and twitches, chains rattling with each small movement, unable to get comfortable, sharp bones on the stone floor.

Thor gets up with a sigh and comes to crouch next to him, but Loki crawls away further along the wall, until he doesn't have the strength anymore, so he lies on the floor still restless and unseeing.

Thor suddenly feels very tired. Tired of constantly fighting the losing battle — against Loki’s determination to end his life, against Odin’s merciless silence, against the corruption that has entered his own heart. He feels that the Norns have spun the threads and his fate has already been decided. He has already failed as a son, as a brother and as a future king.

(He wants it all to end.)

(If only Mother...)

(Tears are threatening to spill.)

 

Thor shifts closer and Loki tries weakly to break free again, but Thor doesn’t allow it this time. He lifts Loki up, his chains dangling, and walks out of the cell, pushing the dismayed guard out of the way.

 

***

The iridescent bridge stretches far behind them reaching towards the remote golden towers and green waterfall-clad mountains. Thor stands on the Bifrost, Loki limp in his arms. Sobering wind is blowing at his face. He doesn’t know if Loki understands where he is. He doesn’t think Loki cares.

Thor comes over to the edge and looks down. The void — endless unforgiving darkness — is staring back at him, glistening with the myriad of stars, whispering, pulling him in. Memories come flooding back. The desperate plea and then the silent resignation in his brother’s eyes. _No, Loki._ Fingers unclenching. _Loki, No._

Thor has never asked Loki what happened after the fall, he only knows that the next time he saw his younger brother on Midgard, Loki looked as if he had aged a lifetime.

A lifetime that Thor wasn’t there for him.

 

 

Thor steps away from the edge and turns to the observatory.

"Open the Bifrost, Heimdall."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> As this is my very first fic, I would very much appreciate any feedback/comments/con crit/corrections you might have. Please feel free to tell me as it is - this is a learning exercise after all.  
> Even if it is terrible, at the very least I now know five different words for "spit" and can tell the difference between clang, clank, clunk and clink! Always useful, right? :)
> 
> UPDATE: I will get the sequel done at some point. I really will.


End file.
